


Broken And Brought Back

by cmdonovann



Category: Quantum Break (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Illness, PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:58:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdonovann/pseuds/cmdonovann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Paul comes back from the End Of Time not to 1999, but back to where he left from, in 2016, and Jack finds him. It’s only been a day or two of Jack looking for Paul, frantic, but it’s been months for Paul. Trapped at the end of time, scavenging and struggling to survive, and when he finally makes it back, Jack doesn't really know how to help him. Paul has changed, but the way they feel about each other hasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest with y'all, I have no idea how long this is going to be. I'm just going to keep writing until I feel I've told a decent story.
> 
> Anyway here's the first chapter. Warning for in-depth exploration of mental illness from a personal POV, specifically anxiety/panic/PTSD, and some sensory stuff. Also warning for descriptions of injury/blood.

The first thing Paul Serene feels when he escapes from hell is the ground, rushing up to meet him, and blood on his knees and palms as he falls, too fast. Everything is too bright, too intense; even the air feels like too much for his lungs. He can feel time here, can feel it passing almost normally, and it’s a shock to his system after being in that frozen wasteland for so long.

It takes a while for him to readjust, to be able to process the sensory input that’s coming at him. It feels like an eternity, hours, but he knows it’s barely minutes. He tries to focus, but his heart is still racing and he can’t make himself calm down. His chest hurts, like he’s drowning.

_Breathe_ , Paul reminds himself. It doesn’t help.

Slowly he drags himself up from the floor, dusts himself off, looks around. The lab is dark, and the lack of light coming through from beneath the doors to the hall indicates that it’s dark in the rest of the building too. Night.

But where is he? Or rather, when is he? The physics building hasn’t changed, and the machine he stepped out of still shows signs of the incident that got him there, for so long, trapped--

_Breathe._

Paul makes another vain attempt at regulating his panic response, and stumbles over to the computer that’s still set up in the control booth. The screen is too bright, and Paul squints to read it. The clock in the upper right corner of the screen reads 10:45pm, October 11th, 2016.

Two days.

He’s only been gone two days, according to this place. But god, it’s been so much longer for him. Months? A year? Paul can already feel his body giving out from exhaustion, but he can’t stay here. He’s not safe. Never safe. Needs help.

_Jack._

* * *

 

It’s been two days since Paul vanished into that machine and Jack has been frantic every waking moment since then. It had just been a demonstration, he’d said, just to prove what he could do. Then Will had showed up and everything had gone to shit.

When the machine had exploded, or something like it, the world had stopped. But Jack hadn’t. He could see sparks, suspended in the air, frozen. He could see Will, like a statue, face twisted in an expression of anger as he brandished a handgun. It hadn’t lasted long, and when time returned to its normal state he called the cops on Will, had him sent home with someone to keep an eye on him, explained to several different disbelieving officers what had happened and how Paul had disappeared.

He knows they aren’t looking. They put out a missing persons notice, and nothing else. The lab is closed off for barely a day before students and professors and interns are allowed past the yellow caution tape to start cleaning up the mess and getting back to work.

Jack can’t bring himself to leave Riverport when his best friend is missing, job be damned. He already paid for a few extra nights at the motel he’s currently holed up in, and he’s very strongly considering going to see Will, once he’s had some time to cool down. He needs to see if Will knows what might have happened to Paul, where (or when) he might be.

He’s pacing back and forth across the small motel room, practically wearing holes in the dirty red carpet, when his phone rings. He answers it almost immediately, not recognizing the number and hesitating for less than a second.

“Hello?” The line is crackly as he waits for a reply. He hears the person on the other side take a breath, a sharp hissing inhale. A sound he can’t identify is in the background, and the rush of cars.

“Jack.”

Jack’s heart jumps into his throat. The voice on the other end sounds exhausted, half dead, but familiar.

“Paul! Oh my god. Where are you? Are you okay?” There’s no answer on the other side, only static and background noise. “Paul?”

“Jack, I’m-” Paul’s voice is hoarse, struggling. “Phone booth,” he manages, “university.”

“I’m coming to find you. Stay where you are. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The phone line goes dead before Jack can even hang up his end. He grabs his coat and heads out into the night.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long to locate Paul. There aren’t many working phone booths in the little town, and only two of them are anywhere near the university campus.

Jack nearly walks right by Paul. He’s slumped against the side of the phone booth, on the grassy area behind the physics building, and he’s a fucking mess. He looks like he’s been through hell, like he just spent a month in the wilderness alone, and he’s still wearing that awful band tee shirt he had on when he vanished into the machine.

“Paul,” Jack lets out a gasp and rushes toward him, crouching down to get at his eye level. He seems barely conscious, his head resting on his knees, which are pulled up tightly to his chest. “Paul, hey-” Jack tries to put his hand on Paul’s shoulder and Paul jumps back, alarmed, eyes wide.

At first Paul looks terrified, but after a moment recognition creeps into his face and a relieved and tired smile graces his dirtied features.

“Jack?” He reaches out a tentative hand, touches Jack’s sleeve, holds on to it. “Jack,” he says again, slowly, his voice breaking. Suddenly he’s in Jack’s arms, crying, and Jack has no idea what to do. He settles for gently wrapping his arms around Paul as he clings to him, shuddering sobs wracking his body.

They remain like that for several minutes, until Paul has calmed down enough that Jack thinks he can stand.

“C’mon, buddy,” he says, carefully pulling Paul up with him as he stands. Paul seems wobbly, and Jack lets him keep one arm over his shoulder. “I’m gonna call us a cab, okay? What the hell happened to you?”

Paul doesn’t answer. He holds onto Jack tight, swallows hard, stares at the ground. Whatever happened, he’s definitely struggling to process it.

Jack calls the cab. The driver looks at the pair suspiciously, given that frankly, Paul looks like a homeless person, but Jack tips him extra and he shrugs it off.

* * *

 

When they make it back to the motel, Paul finally seems to have calmed down. He’s not crying anymore, at least, and his breathing seems to be even. Jack helps him out of the cab and across the parking lot into his room.

“Alright, man, I don’t know what the hell happened to you, but we can talk later. You’re a fucking mess. Can you shower?” Paul leans against the door frame of the bathroom while Jack digs around in his backpack for some extra Paul-sized clothes and a towel. Paul nods slowly.

“Great. I’m gonna order takeout. And I gotta call the police department and tell ‘em to take down the missing persons notice for you.” Jack hands a pile of clothes and a towel to Paul, who still appears dazed. He takes a careful step into the bathroom, still balanced against the door frame with one hand, closes the door behind him. Jack sighs and pulls out his phone, going to sit down on the edge of the bed.

* * *

 

The shower is probably the worst thing Paul has experienced in his short time back in the real world. It’s too small, too closed in, the white tile too bright, stinging his eyes, the water on his skin a strange and overwhelming feeling. He leaves his clothes in the bottom of the shower, watching dirt and blood swirl off of them, off his body and down the drain, as he struggles to keep his head clear, keep the panic at bay. Breathing is hard.

Paul stays in the shower only as long as it takes to remove most of the months worth of grime built up on his skin. The little bottle of motel shampoo doesn’t do much, but it smells like lemon and that gives his senses something to focus on besides how much he hurts.

The clothes Jack gave him are a bit large. They used to wear the same size, Paul remembers, but he’s thinner now, after... after--

_Breathe._

He slips on the tee shirt and sweatpants Jack gave him, making an active effort not to think. Focuses on the feeling of the clean fabric against his skin. It’s a foreign sensation, and the fabric catches on some of the cuts and scrapes on his body, but he doesn’t really mind. The clothes smell like Jack, familiar, and he feels, for a brief moment, almost _safe._

The feeling doesn’t last. Paul exits the bathroom to find that Jack is gone, to where he has no idea, and immediately his brain begins telling him that he imagined it all, he is not safe, Jack did not come to rescue him, he is still trapped--

He stumbles, head reeling, every little sound around him making him jump. He tries to make it to the bed and just barely sits down on its edge, puts his head in his hands, breathes.

_You’re fine. You got out. You did it. Everything is okay. You’re never going back there._ He repeats these things over and over in his head, counting his breaths. He hopes Jack will get back soon from wherever he might be.

* * *

 

“Hey Paul?” Jack opens the door slowly, not wanting to alarm Paul. He’s not sure how he’ll react to anything in his current state.

There’s no response from inside, so he opens the door all the way and paces in, several boxes of cheap Chinese takeout under one arm. Paul is on the bed, laying on his side, curled up with his knees to his chest. His eyes are distant. Jack sets the takeout boxes on the table by the bed and settles down next to Paul, carefully.

“Hey, man, you alright?” He places a hand on Paul’s back, between his shoulder blades, an attempt at a gesture of comfort. Paul looks around, suddenly alert, and he rolls over slightly to look up at Jack. His expression is unreadable.

“Jack.” It’s not so much a question as a confirmation, Paul reassuring himself that Jack is really there.

“Yeah.” Jack looks down at him. He’s still a mess. A lot of what Jack initially thought was dirt and grime seems to be bruises, abrasions, lots of little injuries. “Are you gonna be okay? Do I need to take you to the emergency room or something?”

Paul shakes his head slowly, thinking. “You brought food?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know you’re not a fan of that Chinese takeout place but it’s the only one open this late, and-” he’s cut off as Paul sits up abruptly, focused. Jack grabs one of the boxes from the table and hands it to him, a plastic fork taped to the top of the container. He watches in surprise as Paul tears it open and starts shoveling fried rice into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“Uh. Alright then.” Jack picks up his own box and pokes at the chicken inside with his fork. He’s not really hungry. Too busy being worried.

Paul pauses, his eyes darting towards Jack for a moment. He clears his throat, painfully.

“Thank you.”

Jack raises his eyebrows, shrugs. “Yeah, no problem. You want something to drink? I think there’s a soda machine outside.”

Paul shakes his head and looks Jack dead in the eye. “Stay.”

Jack nods slowly, starting to understand. “Yeah. Okay.” He digs into his own food, feeling a little better, and the two sit on the motel bed for a while, quiet. Paul finishes his food quickly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, winces at a bruise he forgot was on his jaw.

“So,” Jack starts quietly. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? What happened to you?”

Paul looks very nervous. “I-” the words don’t come easily. “I don’t know how to explain what happened.” He looks away. “I’m not sure what parts are real. I’m not sure if this is real.” His fingers are fidgeting at the scratchy motel blanket, grabbing fistfuls of it and letting go again, over and over. Paul may be an anxious and somewhat uptight person, but Jack has never seen him this scared, and his heart aches.

“Okay. I think we should go see Will tomorrow.” Paul looks up, alarmed. Jack clarifies. “He’s probably still pissed at you, but he’s not gonna go brandishing a gun at you again. I’ll make sure of it. We just need to figure out what happened back there, with the, ah, time machine.” The words sound silly out loud, but Paul nods. “He does know the most about it, apparently.”

“Yes.” Paul nods decisively.

Jack looks him up and down once, concerned. Most of the left side of his face is a bruise, a few days old at least, splotchy purple and yellow. The clothes Jack lent him, which would normally have fit relatively well, hang loose on his frame, as though he’s been starved for weeks. His knuckles and palms are covered in scrapes, some fresh and some already scabbed over. His forearms, too, are dotted with marks, some already mostly healed and scarring.

That can’t be right, Jack thinks. He was barely gone for two days. It takes much longer than that for scar tissue to form. He knows from personal, painful experience.

But then again, Paul had vanished into a fucking time machine.

“Paul? How long were you, uh, gone?” He phrases the question carefully. Paul shudders visibly.

“Too long. A few months?” Jack’s jaw drops. “Maybe a year?”

Jack’s stomach feels sick again. But that’s nothing, he thinks, compared to what Paul’s probably feeling. “Jesus christ, Paul.” He reaches out a hand to put on Paul’s shoulder, an awkward attempt at comfort, and Paul takes it in both his hands and holds it against his chest, not meeting Jack’s eyes. Not what he was expecting, but it’s something. There’s a pang in his chest, overempathy, and he’s seized with a strong need to do something, anything, to help Paul.

“Hey, I’ve got first aid stuff in my bag, someone should probably check out all... that.” Jack nods at the many injuries that cover Paul, lets out a nervous chuckle. “You know me, I always end up needing patched up. Guess it’s your turn.”

Paul attempts a smile, painful though it is. “Thanks, Jack.” He releases Jack’s hand reluctantly, still desperate to hold onto him, reassurance of reality. Jack goes to dig around in his backpack, eventually finding what he was looking for.

“I mean, it’s not _exactly_ a first aid kit, but I’ve got bandages and disinfectant and antibacterial stuff,” Jack holds up a box of kids’ band-aids and a tube of antibiotic cream. The band-aids have superheroes on them, Paul notices, and he smiles, fondness and familiarity in his eyes.

Paul sits up a bit straighter on the edge of the bed, his legs crossed underneath him, as Jack sits back down next to him and sets the pile of first aid stuff on the bed. “Alright. Where’s the worst? Your hands look pretty bad.” Paul nods and holds one out. “Yeah, okay.”

Jack takes Paul’s hand in his own, inspecting it. His knuckles are a mess, although they seem to have had some time to heal. There’s a particularly bad scrape on his index finger that looks like it’s getting infected. Jack pops open the disinfectant and dabs some on. Paul flinches visibly, making a small noise of pain.

“Sorry, that probably stings.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Jack applies more disinfectant to all of the scrapes, rubbing his thumb along the back of Paul’s hand comfortingly as he goes. Then antibiotic, then bandages. He wonders if maybe he’s going a little overboard with the band-aids when he realizes he’s put one on every one of Paul’s fingers (and then some), but he shrugs it off. It seems to be making Paul feel better, a little, and at least it’ll keep everything from getting infected.

He moves on from Paul’s hands up his arms, cleaning up all the little cuts and scrapes. There’s a deeper one on his shoulder, disappearing just under his sleeve, and Jack pulls it away to take a look. Paul flinches.

“Sorry,” Jack says softly. “That one’s pretty bad, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Paul mutters.

“Doesn’t look fine,” Jack insists. “Don’t be stubborn, let me put something on it. Seriously, I have no idea where you’ve been, any of these could get infected and that’s not gonna be a fun time for you.”

Paul takes a deep breath. He knows Jack is right. Carefully, he slides his arm out of the too-large tee shirt and pulls it off over his head, biting his lip and grimacing at the motion.

“Whoa,” Jack was not prepared for what was under that shirt. Paul had always been thin, but his ribs are more visible than they should be, and his collarbones jut out unnaturally. A huge purplish bruise spreads along his back and side, down below his sweatpants, low on his hips, like something big slammed into his entire left side. The cut on his arm is deeper than it looked, like it probably needs stitches, and there are more on his shoulder. “Geez, Paul, you could have told me it was this bad.”

Paul shrugs, winces again from the movement. Apparently he didn’t think it was that bad.

“Alright, whatever. Lemme have a look. I’m no expert, but it looks like you could really use an actual doctor.” Jack frowns as he inspects the gash on Paul’s arm. It’s deep enough that he questions if putting disinfectant in it might be a bad idea, and he settles for just putting antibiotic cream on it and covering it up with seven band-aids. “Not the best patch job, but it’ll do,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

Paul pulls his shirt back on and shivers a little.

“Thank you.”

He sounds so _tired_.

“Yeah. You should get some rest.” Jack gathers up the first aid stuff and gets up to put it away. “You can have the bed, I don’t mind.” He nods toward the armchair in the corner, one of the only other furnishings in the tiny motel room.

“You don’t have to do that,” Paul says quietly. Jack looks at him, confused, and is met with a pleading and frightened look from Paul.

Jack breathes a long sigh. He can’t bring himself to argue with Paul in this state. And anyway, it’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before. He thinks back to the many sleepovers they had as kids, curled up together in one of their twin-sized beds, giggling and talking until the early hours of the morning. Simpler times.

“Sure, okay.” Jack shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his shoes, hangs the jacket over the back of the chair in the corner, and strips down to boxers and a tee shirt. Paul looks away. He curls up on one side of the bed, facing the wall.

Jack flips off the light switch, the room still illuminated by the neon filtering in through the window from the motel sign outside. He paces over to the bed, flops down, suddenly exhausted. What a weird and fucked up day. He pulls the scratchy hotel blanket up. Paul rolls over suddenly to face him, leans his forehead against Jack’s shoulder, rests one hand carefully on Jack’s arm as if to hold onto him so he won’t go anywhere.

It’s an odd feeling, but there’s something like familiarity in the gesture. It’s been a long time since he’s been this close to Paul, and although Paul had grown out of being clingy and touchy as a teenager, it’s still comfortable somehow, despite the circumstances. He lets one hand rest at Paul’s side, stroking at the fabric of his shirt with his thumb, and eventually they both fall asleep.


	2. A Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Paul comes back from the End Of Time not to 1999, but back to where he left from, in 2016, and Jack finds him. Now they're going to Will for help. This could go very well, or very badly. But time is fucked and Paul is scared and has no idea how to fix it. Will probably does. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning again for Paul being anxious and traumatized. (Note: yes, he does seem a bit OOC. That's the point. He's really fucked up from what happened to him at the end of time. Quit judging me, I like to write him fucked up)

When Jack wakes up, Paul is still asleep, totally knocked out. He’s roped one arm around Jack in his sleep, his head on Jack’s chest, holding onto him tight. His face looks funny, brows furrowed, as though he’s thinking about something troubling. Jack moves carefully so as not to wake Paul, grabs his phone off the table by the bed, and checks the time. Almost noon.

Paul had always been a morning person, usually awake before 7am. He must have been exhausted. Jack puts away his phone and tries to extract himself from Paul’s arms without disturbing him, but the movement jars Paul awake, violently, and he makes a pained noise as his eyes shoot open and he pulls away from Jack and curls up on himself, defensive. It takes a moment of panic before realization sets in; where he is, what’s happening.

“Hey, sorry,” Jack reaches out a hand, an attempt at an expression of trust. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s just me, Paul. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Paul swallows hard, nods, tries to find words. All he manages is a small “hm” sound of recognition.

“You gonna be alright?” Jack asks, trying to meet Paul’s gaze as Paul looks around nervously.

“...I think so.” He does seem a little better than he was last night. The dark circles under his eyes are less noticeable, his eyes less distant, and there’s more color in his face. Jack gives him a patient smile.

“So. We’ve gotta go talk to Will.”

The statement doesn’t seem to frighten Paul as much as it did before. He sighs.

“Yes.”

Jack frowns. Paul has never been so untalkative in his life, and it’s really starting to worry him.

“Do you wanna go grab breakfast first? It’s already almost noon, but there’s a Denny’s somewhere in town now, right?”

A smile graces Paul’s tired face for a moment, and Jack’s heart skips a beat.

“That would be... nice.”

Jack grins and slides out of bed, pacing across the small room to grab clothes. “Awesome. Get dressed then. You can borrow pants and stuff from me for now.” He tosses some clothes on the bed by Paul’s feet and continues looking through his bag. “You probably don’t have any money, huh?”

“No,” Paul says quietly as he slips on a clean tee shirt, still too big. “Sorry,” he says a moment later, not quite an afterthought.

“It’s fine. I gotcha.” Jack grabs his wallet and sticks it in the pocket of his jacket.

“Alright! Let’s go! Pancakes!” Jack says excitedly once they’re both dressed.

Paul nods, cautiously enthusiastic. “Pancakes.”

* * *

 

Jack decides against calling a cab; the Denny’s is only a few blocks from the motel, and it’s a nice enough day outside. Not particularly busy. Paul walks very close to him the whole way there, hand brushing Jack’s sleeve, like he wants to hold onto it. Jack keeps his hands in his pockets.

After several reassurances of _yes, you can order whatever you want, yes I can pay for it Paul, calm down, I’m not fifteen anymore_ , Paul gets two plates of pancakes with extra bacon on the side and several glasses of orange juice. Jack gets an omelette and a coffee. He can’t help but smile at the look of absolute _joy_ on Paul’s face when his pancakes arrive, despite the weird looks they’re getting because of how rough a state Paul is in. He can barely bend his fingers to hold a fork with all the band-aids on them, and half of his face is still covered in bruises.

Jack’s already finished his food and is sipping coffee, and Paul is halfway through his second plate of pancakes before Jack tries to start some kind of productive conversation.

“So, uh, you were gone for like a year, huh?” He immediately regrets his choice of words, watching the color drain from Paul’s face as he freezes. He frantically tries to backtrack. “Ah, that’s not-- I’m just trying to figure out what happened. Where were you?”

Paul is still frozen, clenching his jaw and holding tightly to his fork, hands shaking slightly. He swallows hard, blinks, tries to take a deep breath.

“Hell,” he mutters under his breath, not looking up from his plate. “The end of the world. I don’t know. It was hell.” He drops his fork with a jarring clatter onto his plate and covers his face with one hand, the other clenched tightly, holding onto the edge of the table as if for some stability.

Jack looks alarmed, slowly sets down his coffee. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He can see Paul’s shoulders shaking. “Hey,” he reaches a hand across the small plastic table to place on top of Paul’s hand, a gentle reassurance. The shaking stops.

“You’re here now.”

Paul slowly looks up, sees Jack staring at him with concern in those big, honest blue eyes. Safe.

_But you’re not safe_ , his mind tells him, _you’re never safe._ Paul squeezes his eyes closed, screams silently at the fear in his head. Refuses to let it win. _  
_

_Breathe._

Slowly, he returns his gaze to meet Jack’s and speaks quietly. “Do you... do you remember, right after the explosion, when everything froze? But you and I could still move. Right before I-” Paul pauses, looks away. “Before I disappeared, I suppose.”

Jack nods, serious, still looking Paul directly in the eye. “What was that?”

“Something went wrong with time, I think, after the explosion.” Paul takes a long breath. “That’s what it was like, where I was. Everything frozen. Every _one_ frozen. Dead. Like a nightmare.” He’s still holding tight to Jack’s hand, feels it anchoring him. This is real.

“Jesus christ, Paul.” Jack’s expression of concern has increased by a factor of about 500, and Paul tries his absolute best to give Jack an _‘I’m fine, don’t worry’_ kind of smile. It doesn’t work. The fact that half his face looks like it was shoved into a blender probably doesn’t help much, either.

And anyway, he’s not really fine. What’s the point in lying?

Paul pushes his mostly-finished plate of pancakes away and puts his head on the sticky plastic of the table, closing his eyes and letting out a long and shuddering sigh. Jack’s thumb rubs comfortingly along the back of the hand he’s still holding, and Paul lets himself focus on that sensation, lets it push all other thoughts out of his mind, trying not to be afraid.

He stays there for a while, trying not to think about the concerned look that’s probably still on Jack’s face, trying not to think about what comes next. He almost expects Jack to say something, but Jack remains quiet, patient. Finally Paul sits up, feeling calmer.

“We need to talk to your brother.”

Jack looks taken aback, but nods. “Yeah. Hopefully he’s had enough time to cool down.” Jack pulls out his wallet, flags down their server, and pays the bill. He leaves a ten for a tip, even though their bill was barely $20. Paul smiles a little, feeling a surge of affection knowing that this is the person he’s chosen to trust more than anyone else on Earth. It might be the only truly good decision he’s ever made. Jack has always been better than him, kinder, despite what Jack might think of himself.

Paul tries not to let Jack catch the way he’s looking at him as they leave, avoiding his eyes but standing so close to him. Like he’s the sun after a storm, an anchor, a safety net. Like he’s home.

* * *

 

Jack Joyce has never been the type to worry excessively, but god, is he worried about Paul. Although Paul doesn’t look nearly as bad as he did the previous night, he still has a hollow look in his eyes, like some part of him that had once been eternally enthusiastic and charming and brilliant has been ripped out and replaced with nothing but fear. “Shell-shocked” is the best phrase Jack can think of to apply to it, and he wonders again what the hell happened to Paul, what had hurt him so badly that the scars aren’t just physical but mental.

Paul stands unusually close to him while he calls the cab, and remains just as close when they climb into the cab and Jack gives the driver Will’s address. It doesn’t really bother him so much as it worries him. He doesn’t mind being close to Paul; he actually enjoys it, if he’s honest with himself, but the fact that Paul even feels it necessary to be so close makes him feel awful for it. Paul had stopped being clingy with him years ago, when they were teenagers, as he realized the kind of negative attention it brought on them both. They’d both learned to not get to close unless they had to, unless they needed it, and the fear in Paul’s eyes says he needs Jack now, reputation be damned.

The drive from the center of town out to the old Joyce house isn’t very long, but the silence that fills the cab makes it feel like hours. Fuzzy and static-obscured pop music plays from the radio, a tune Jack sort of recognizes but can’t recall the name, and Paul leans his head against Jack’s shoulder with eyes closed, brows furrowed, clearly regulating his breathing in an attempt at false calm. The cab _is_ a bit claustrophobic, Jack thinks.

When the cab pulls up at the house, Jack is hit with a wave of what can only be described as a poorly-mixed cocktail of nostalgia and nausea. He taps Paul’s shoulder to rouse him, hands the driver some money, and climbs out of the car with Paul right behind at his heels.

The house has fallen into an awful state of disrepair since the last time he saw it. It had never really been taken care of since Will had owned it, but this is truly an all time low. The grass in the yard is tall enough that a small child could get lost in it, the pathway to the door obscured by weeds, vines creeping up the faded paneling on the sides of the house. One window appears to be broken and is hanging half open, crooked, and a pile of books is visible inside.

Jack just stands there for a moment, unsure what to feel. His relationship with Will has never been great, and after the incident at the university, he’s not sure he’ll even be welcome in that house.

“Yikes,” Paul says, breaking the silence and snapping Jack out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’ll say. The man can do calculus in his sleep but he can’t remember to mow the lawn every once in a while. Sheesh.” Jack shakes his head, chuckling a little. “Well, we’re not getting any younger,” Jack says, psyching himself up. 

Paul glances over at him, nervous. Jack looks nervous too, he thinks, and he takes Jack’s hand for comfort. Jack doesn’t seem to mind.

They head down the short path to the door, hand in hand, Paul kicking at the weeds as they go, eyes on the ground. Jack goes for the doorbell but before he can even ring, the door swings open and Will stares out at them, eyes wide.

“I thought I heard something!” His eyes go to Paul, standing halfway behind Jack as if trying to hide. “You.”

“Will,” Jack warns, voice low. “Don’t.”

Will takes a step back, fidgets for a moment before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look, I don’t want anything to do with this anymore. You ruined my career, you ruined my work, and I have nothing more for you to take from me.” He seems to be speaking to Paul, despite not meeting either Jack or Paul’s eyes.

“Will, we need your help.” Jack is trying to be patient, but he can already tell this conversation is not going to be an easy one.

“What the hell do you need _my_ help for? You already blew up the time machine, and I’m not fixing it for you.”

“It’s not just the machine,” Paul says quietly. Will looks at him suddenly, alert. “It’s time. Something went very wrong with time.”

Jack nods, looking expectantly at Will, waiting for him to answer.

“What do you mean? The explosion-?” Will stops. “Oh.” His eyes go very wide. _“Oh.”_

“What?” Jack isn’t quite on the right page. Will shakes his head and turns quickly, heading inside, leaving the door open. Jack follows, pulling Paul with him.

“Will, what is it?”

Will is digging through a pile of papers sitting on the kitchen table. The whole place is a mess, covered in paperwork, books, uncleaned dishes, empty cans of spaghetti-os and bottles of soda. It smells less than pleasant, and Paul makes a face, attempts to back away for the door, but Jack is still holding his hand.

“I mean, I didn’t think it would really happen, but theoretically-” Will is muttering under his breath, looking for something. “It must have been the explosion. The machine. But how-?”

“Will!” Jack says, making an effort not to shout. “What is it?”

Will continues looking through his papers, finds what he’s looking for. “A fracture!”

“A what now?” Jack raises one eyebrow.

“A- a fracture in time. A disturbance in the chronon field. It could have been caused by the explosion. I- uh, I would have thought I would notice if it happened, but-” he bites his lip, “now that I think of it, I wouldn’t be able to tell. Time would just stop, and no one would know.”

“Like it did after the explosion,” Jack says slowly, nodding. Will looks at him with shock.

“How would you know?”

Jack frowns. “That’s what happened, right after the explosion. Everything froze, even you.”

“But you didn’t?” Will looks genuinely concerned.

“No...?” Jack looks confused. “Paul didn’t, either. That’s when he went through the machine, and- uh, went missing.” Jack can feel Paul shudder, and he squeezes his hand comfortingly.

“That’s impossible,” Will says, shaking his head. “Unless...” He glances up and down Jack and Paul, analyzing. “Unless the explosion altered your relationship to the chronon field.”

“Well, how would you be able to tell?” Jack asks.

“I suppose the easiest way would be to put you in a chronon-free environment and see if you can still function, or if you freeze.” Will shrugs. “But that would be nearly impossible to recreate, even in a lab like the one at the university.”

“By ‘chronon-free environment,’ you mean a fracture, right?” Paul asks quietly from his hiding spot behind Jack. Will nods.

“Exactly.”

“Your theory is right then.” Paul takes a step forward, still gripping tightly to Jack’s hand for stability. “I’ve been in one. For almost a year.”

“Holy shit.” Will’s jaw drops. “No wonder you look like hell.” Jack scowls and gives Will a look that says _‘that’s fucking rude.’_

“That’s not the point, though,” Paul says, his voice unsteady. “The point is that this fracture gets worse in the future. That’s where I was. And everything there is broken, stopped. There has to be some way to prevent it.”

Will nods enthusiastically. “There is. I had planned for this, just in case something like this happened. It’s only theory, but with the right equipment and funding, and a power source... I could make something that could, hypothetically, fix a fracture.”

“Great!” Jack smiles, relieved that Will is being so cooperative. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“Well I can’t do a damn thing about it right now, all my work was on that project and Paul had me locked out. I don’t have access to it anymore. And even if I did, it’ll take months to build, maybe even years.”

Jack’s heart drops. Of course. “Paul?” He turns to look at Paul, who is biting his lip nervously and looking anywhere but at the other two men in the room. “Paul, you’re gonna have to talk to the people at the university. Get them to give Will access to the project. Or what’s left of it, I guess.”

Paul swallow hard, nods. “I’ll try.” He’s sweating, his face gone white.

“Hey. You don’t have to do it today. It can wait. Right?” Jack glances at Will, who shrugs.

“Sooner would be better than later.” Jack frowns at Will, always frustrated by his emotional insensitivity.

“We don’t have to do it today,” Jack says decisively. “We’ve got time, right?” He glances between Paul and Will, hoping one of them know the answer to that. Silence is the only response.

“There’s no way to tell, as of right now,” Will says after a moment. “You two are the only ones who would know if it started getting worse.”


	3. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Paul comes back from the End Of Time not to 1999, but back to where he left from, in 2016, and Jack finds him. They may have decided on a course of action, but there are still things that need to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning as always for descriptions of Paul's fucked up mental state. Anxiety, panic, PTSD, et cetera. Also, pineapple on pizza.

Jack and Paul resolve to speak to the university higher-ups tomorrow, and they leave Will to work on his theory. He’s started some calculations, although given the limited information Paul could provide him with, they’ll likely be changed soon when he gets his lab and all his notes back.

But now Paul is burned out, exhausted again, and Jack knows a crappy motel bed isn’t gonna do him as much good as his own. So he takes Paul home.

Paul’s apartment is in the residential area near the university, where most of the students live. It’s a decent area, albeit quite loud at night, drunk kids and parties commonplace. Paul doesn’t have a key anymore, lost somewhere in his time missing, so Jack picks the lock. A useful skill; one he learned during his escapades with Paul as teenagers, he remembers.

“Aha,” Jack murmurs as the lock finally clicks open. “See? Aren’t you glad we learned how to do that? It’s not _just_ useful for breaking and entering.”

“You are technically breaking and entering, anyway. You don’t live here,” Paul says tiredly, eyes closed as he leans against the wall. But there’s a spark of humor in his response, and Jack smiles. Paul is starting to seem more like _Paul_ again.

“C’mon, you nerd. You look like you’re gonna pass out.” Jack takes Paul by the arm and leads him into the apartment, locating the light switch and flipping it on.

He’s never been in Paul’s apartment before, and he’s surprised by how homey it feels. Paul has always been an excessively neat and organized person, but there are still photographs hung on some walls, a few sentimental items sitting on side tables or being used as bookends. Everything is warm, from the dark red wood of the dining table in the kitchen to the cream colored sofa in the main room to the warm forest green rug at the front door, which reads _WELCOME_ in thin, light yellow letters. Jack had expected the place to be cold and boring, but it feels more like home than anywhere Jack’s ever been.

Jack looks over at Paul, who’s staring around at the place in confusion, like he’s lost, and it occurs to Jack that Paul hasn’t been here in a long time.

“Hey. You gonna be okay, buddy?” Jack puts a hand on Paul’s shoulder gently, snapping him from his trance.

“Ah. Yes. I’m fine.” Paul shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts and looks at Jack. “Are you-?” He bites his lip. “Are you going to leave?”

Jack takes a step back, surprised. “Oh! I mean, I can if you want me to-”

“No.”

Jack nods. “Are you sure? I understand if you need some alone time to, you know, de-stress or whatever.”

“I’m sure.” Paul looks more serious that he’s ever looked in his life.

“Okay. Alright.” Jack looks around the dimly-lit apartment, unsure of what to do with himself. “Do you want me to order a pizza or something? Your stuff all still works, right? You were only gone for two days, it’s not like they’d cut your cable service or anything. We could watch a movie, you know, chill for a while.”

Paul looks at Jack for a moment, confused, but grateful. Jack’s ability to understand what he needs hasn’t changed.

“Yeah, okay. That’s a good idea.”

“Great. I know you probably don’t wanna talk, so...”

“Yeah.”

“It can wait. We can talk later, if you want.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

“Sure.” The space between them is awkward and the air feels heavy with the silence that follows. Jack is worried, but he's reluctant to say it. Paul is not okay, but he’ll never say that, either. It certainly is a roadblock.

“Alright, I’ll call for pizza,” Jack says abruptly, pulling out his phone and wandering into the kitchen, using the light from his phone as a flash light to find the light switch. Paul collapses on the sofa and closes his eyes with a sigh.

Jack’s voice echoes quietly through the apartment, muffled, as he talks on the phone. Paul tries to focus on the sound, the familiar tone of Jack’s voice, as he closes his eyes and settles onto the sofa. It feels strange, being back here. He knows it’s safe, logically, but it feels deceptive. An illusion of safety, with something underneath the surface waiting to pull him out of the calm and back into the storm.

Suddenly it’s quiet again. Jack has stopped talking. Paul opens his eyes, uncomfortable with the silence, and finds Jack standing above him.

“Wanna move over a little? You’re taking up the whole couch.”

Paul raises his eyebrows, surprised by how calm Jack is. He seems so _okay._ Nothing has changed for him. Well, plenty of things have changed, otherwise he wouldn’t even be on this continent right now, but still.

“Sure. Did you order pizza?” He tries to keep his voice steady as he speaks, sitting up to make room for Jack. It still feels strange to speak out loud, after so long having no one to talk to but himself and the frozen air.

“Yeah, man, you still like Hawaiian right? Like with pineapple?”

Paul smiles broadly, and it only hurts his bruised face a little. He nods. This almost feels... normal. Like nothing is wrong. Like the world isn’t falling apart.

_Stop. Don’t think about that._

“So. Movie?” Paul says as he looks around, remembering that the TV has a remote, somewhere. It takes him a moment to locate it on a side table, next to a stack of National Geographic magazines.

“Yeah.” Jack sounds unsure again, like there’s something he wants to say. He keeps glancing over at Paul in quick little motions, nervous. Is he going to leave? _He doesn’t want to be here._

_He doesn’t care about you._

Paul shakes his head, willing the thought away.

“Jack?” His voice shakes.

“Mm?” Jack turns to him, eyebrows raised, nothing but gentle concern in his expression. Paul has never been good at saying what he needs, but he desperately needs _something_ right now, some stability, something to reassure him that this world is real and he is safe.

“Please don’t leave.”

Paul feels his heart racing again, afraid. His fingers are twisting the fabric at the edge of his shirt, trying to find something in the feeling to ground him. He can’t meet Jack’s gaze, squeezing his eyes shut.

Suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder, warm, sliding up the side of his neck to his face, a thumb stroking along his cheek. All other thoughts are drowned out by the sensation.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack says, his voice low and quiet, understanding. “Unless you want me to.”

Paul opens his eyes and looks at Jack, his best friend, the only person he really trusts, the one thing that can make him feel safe. He feels his hands still shaking, his heart still racing, his breath still caught in his throat. But he’s safe here; nothing is going to hurt him here, even if he lets his guard down for a moment.

So he cries.

Jack looks alarmed at first, and Paul feels terrible for doing this to him, but there is so much fear built up inside his body that this is the only way it can get out. He crumples, feeling the tears falling down his face, brings one hand up to hide behind.

“Paul?” Jack doesn’t seem to know how to react. His hand is still on Paul’s cheek, and Paul leans into it.

“I’m sorry,” Paul whispers, not sure what else to say. “I’m sorry, this is all my fault and I’m sorry. I did this to myself.”

“Whoa, hey. What the hell?” Jack puts his other hand on Paul’s shoulder, looks him in the eye seriously. “What is going on? I can understand some of this. I know being stuck for months in a time fracture or whatever probably isn’t a cake walk, but I’m really lost. What happened to you there? I know all this-” Jack gestures at the many marks he’d covered with bandages “-didn’t come from just time travel. So what the hell happened to you? What are you so afraid of?” He lets out a breath he had been holding in, his shoulders falling. “I’ve never seen you so scared before, Paul. It’s freaking me out. I’m worried about you.”

Paul hears Jack’s words, but he can’t respond. His head is spinning and he’s shaking. Everything feels so intense suddenly; the buzz of the light bulb in the lamp nearby, the warmth of the air in the little apartment, Jack’s hands on his shoulders. It’s like his brain has screeched to a halt, unable to process everything at once. He clears his throat once, twice, sniffs, runs a hand across his cheek to stop the tears.

There has to be some way to explain it to Jack. But when he imagines what he saw there, the only thoughts his mind can offer are _run, hide, panic, escape._ He can’t make Jack understand that. He can barely understand it himself.

After what feels like hours, he finds words.

“In the future,” he says, voice barely a whisper, “it was a fracture, like Will said. Time stopped everywhere. Everyone frozen. But...” he feels his throat closing up, making it harder to breathe; he fights it. “But I wasn’t alone there. There were... I don’t know what they were. But they were violent.”

“What do you mean? Other people who weren’t affected by the fracture? Like us?”

“They weren’t human,” Paul shudders, blinks away the image floating before his eyes, and focuses on Jack instead. “Like something out of a nightmare.” He looks at Jack seriously. “If the fracture is going to happen in the future, those things will be there.”

Jack takes a deep breath; he seems to be trying to figure out how to respond.

“Okay. We have to talk to Will about this, too. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a very _not good_ thing to me, monsters running around while the rest of the world is frozen. That’s definitely not normal. Not that any of this is normal, but you know what I mean,” Jack says. He shrugs. He seems to be dealing with this a lot better than most would, Paul thinks. “If we’re gonna try to fix this, we need all the information we can get, okay?”

Paul nods. He doesn’t know what to say. His heart is still pounding, wondering if those things could find their way into this world. If they existed in the future, who’s to say they aren’t already here somewhere, waiting?

Paul closes his eyes, tries to shut down the thought. That is not a possibility he wants to consider.

“Paul?” Jack’s voice pulls him from his worry.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?” Jack frowns, rethinking. “That’s a stupid question, never mind. You’re not okay, Paul, we both know that. And I know you have a weird way of dealing with shit, but if there’s anything I can do-” He leaves the sentence open, like he’s waiting for some kind of answer.

Paul thinks for a moment that he might start crying again, but he blinks the tears away quickly. He does not deserve Jack’s kindness. He’s the reason they’re both in this mess now anyway.

But he’s also selfish, and afraid, and god, he needs reassurance right now.

“Just... stay,” Paul whispers, leaning his forehead against Jack’s. He’s never been good at admitting things like this. Never been good at showing emotion, letting his guard down... it’s even harder now, after all that’s happened. Every fiber of his being wants to curl up somewhere dark and never move again. But maybe this is better.

“I just don’t want to be alone.” The words are barely audible, his voice breaking, but Jack seems to understand. He pulls Paul into a tight hug, and it’s like the air is cleared. Everything feels just a little better, lighter, calmer.

“I’m not going anywhere, Paul.”

Suddenly the doorbell buzzes, a high-pitched sound that makes both of them jump.

“That’ll be the pizza,” Paul says, laughing a little from nerves.

“Yeah, I’ll get that.”

* * *

 

The rest of the night is spent in almost-normalcy, with pizza and a bad romcom playing in the background, since Paul couldn’t find anything better to watch. The air feels lighter with the conversation out of the way, and with the tension gone, Paul eventually calms down and falls asleep. His head is halfway in Jack’s lap, and Jack strokes his hair absentmindedly for a while, smiling at how peaceful Paul looks when he’s asleep, all his anxieties and fears forgotten. They can deal with everything tomorrow. The world hasn’t ended yet.


	4. Been Through Worse

Paul is gone when Jack wakes the next morning, back stiff from sleeping on the sofa. He notices Paul’s absence without even opening his eyes, the lack of pressure from Paul’s head on his lap startling him.  
  
“Paul?” Jack rubs his eyes and stretches, looking around the apartment. Early morning light is filtering in through the half-drawn curtains, and the tv is still on, volume low, a soft background static of chatter and music. But Paul doesn’t seem to be there.  
  
“Paul?” Jack calls out again, a little louder, getting up slowly and stretching his legs.  
  
“I’m fine,” a muffled voice comes from down the hall away from the kitchen, and Jack turns toward the sound. Paul’s voice sounds strained, as if he’s in pain.  
  
Jack paces down the hall, sticks his head into the half-open door of the bedroom. Nothing. The only other door in the hall is closed, probably the bathroom, and he knocks lightly.  
  
“I said I’m fine!” Paul’s voice echoes within, this time sounding less strained and more upset.  
  
Jack frowns, considering his options, and backs off. “Okay, sorry, man. You up for trying to talk to the university today?”  
  
“Sure. Just—“ Paul’s voice falters. “Give me a moment, please.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Paul is not fine in the slightest, but Jack believed the lie and that’s good enough for now. He hears Jack’s footsteps back down the hall, away from the door, and lets out a long sigh. His head is hanging over the sink, shoulders hunched, hands gripping the edge of the sink for balance.  
  
He can’t bring himself to look in the mirror at his own face, knowing what he’ll see there. Scars and bruises and evidence of what’s happened, of the reality he’s afraid to face. William Joyce may be brilliant, but Paul cannot see a way for him to prevent the end he knows is coming. One way or another, he will end up back there, and he’s terrified of what that could mean, what he could become. He can feel something boiling under the surface, an electricity in his veins, a static in the air. He doesn’t know what it means, but it makes his stomach sick.  
  
_Calm,_ he thinks to himself. _You need to be able to think straight. There are things you need to do._  
  
Slowly he straightens up, turns so he doesn’t have to face himself in the mirror, runs a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and focuses. All the pieces in his head organize themselves, pushing fear and anxiety into a tiny box somewhere and packing them away, burying them under the determination to do something about this. It takes a significant amount of mental effort, but Paul has a system down, a persona, a mask to put on when he needs to face the world and bend it to his will. It’s been a long time since he’s had to use it, but as they say, it’s like riding a bike.  
  


* * *

  
  
Jack is still hovering worriedly at the end of the hall when Paul exits the bathroom, and he’s surprised to see that Paul looks completely put together, calm, collected. He had been a complete mess last night, and the sudden change is alarming. Paul has always been a good actor, able to switch gears and become charming at a moment’s notice if someone needs sweet-talked to get him out of a tight spot, but he’s never done it to Jack. He’s always himself around Jack. He’s not sure whether he should be concerned.  
  
“Ready to go?”  
  
“Yes,” Paul replies, voice sharp and confident. Jack raises an eyebrow but says nothing else.  
  


* * *

  
  
The walk to the university isn’t long, barely a few blocks from Paul’s apartment, and nothing is said on the way there. Paul keeps his head up, pace quick, eyes focused on some distant goal, and Jack doesn’t want to intrude on whatever might be going on in his head. There’s a look of stark determination in his eyes, almost like anger; Jack recognizes the look, remembers seeing it on Paul’s face when they were young and Paul talked about the future, what he was going to do, the great person he’d become. But it’s different now. Scarier, somehow.  
  
When they reach the university campus gates Paul pauses, as though trying to remember the way, before heading for the physics building. The yellow tape has already been taken down from the door, and everything looks almost normal. Paul doesn’t take the front door, though, instead circling around the building to a smaller add-on to it, probably an office, and stopping at a door to dig around in his pocket.  
  
“Shit,” Paul mutters to himself. “Keys.” He looks around, making eye contact for a moments with the security camera hanging a few feet above the door.  
  
Jack is about to offer help when the door clicks open with the quiet beep of an electronic lock disengaging, and a very tired looking middle-aged woman looks out and lets out a loud sigh.  
  
“Serene! I thought that was you. The police told us you had been found, but they didn’t bother talking to you, so I was worried. Wanna tell me what happened to that project you were supposed to be running? In case you weren’t aware, it literally exploded.” There’s a harsh tone in the woman’s voice, like a teacher scolding a student, and Jack realizes this is probably one of the university physics professors.  
  
“Good to see you too, Professor Brent,” Paul says, slightly sarcastic but with a pleasant smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Jack takes a step back, not wanting to get involved in the coming conversation.  
  
“Yes, of course. Now come in here and tell me what the hell happened,” Brent says, opening the door wider. She finally notices Jack and raises an eyebrow. “And you are?”  
  
Jack opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Paul. “This is Jack Joyce, my best friend. Also a writer for several online publications, here for documentation and legal purposes. I’m sure you understand.”  
  
Jack raises an eyebrow but keeps quiet. Brent looks nervously at Jack, then back at Paul, and sighs. “So this is just as serious as I thought. Alright, let’s talk.”  
  
She pushes the door open fully and gestures for them to come in, and Paul follows, taking Jack’s sleeve and pulling him along.  
  


* * *

  
  
Professor Brent’s office is just as messy as Paul remembers it, however foggy the memory might be. Generic motivational posters cover the walls, overlapped with printouts and graphs and several pages saved from things like National Geographic or Popular Science featuring photos taken from the Hubble telescope. He desk is piled with folders and pens and several potted plants, each with a sticker on the pot with the name of the plant. The one closest to Paul is named “Charles,” apparently. It looks to be some type of cactus.  
  
“So why don’t you start by telling me what happened on the 8th?” Brent says as she settles down into the chair behind her desk. Paul follows, sitting in one of the chairs across from her, and Jack hovers at the door for a moment, unsure, before doing the same.  
  
“We know something went wrong with the machine’s core early that morning, but all our security cameras were knocked out by something just prior to the event and we have no idea what exactly happened, especially since we can’t get into contact with anyone who could run diagnostics on the machine and figure out what happened. Dr. Joyce won’t respond to our calls, and after the police had to haul him out of here that morning, I’m not sure I trust him to.” Brent looks at Jack for a moment and Paul notices him tense up. “You were there, weren’t you?”  
  
Jack looks like he’s panicking as his eyes shoot over to Paul, and Paul takes the question as best he can. “Jack is William’s brother, Professor. He was there to try to help. Unfortunately, Dr. Joyce’s prediction about the instability of the machine’s core turned out to be correct. There was a meltdown, causing damage to the machine itself. If possible, I’d like to request that Dr. Joyce’s access be reinstated so that he can continue work on Project Promenade in order to insure that the damage is fixable.”  
  
Brent gives Paul a long look of mistrust, and Paul feels like a child about to be disciplined by his mother. His heart is racing again, and it’s all he can do to keep his composure.  
  
“That’s… quite a change of heart, Paul. Before, you were adamant that Dr. Joyce was wrong and would destroy this project.” Brent’s eyes flicker between Paul and Jack for a moment. “And this still doesn’t explain where you were for those two days.” Paul tries to remind himself to breathe, unable to break her gaze, unsure if she trusts him. For a moment, the room is uncomfortably silent.  
  
“But still,” Brent continues, “you’ve always been one of our best. I’ve always trusted your judgement before. I’ll make some calls. But I think you should speak to Dr. Joyce, he seems very reluctant to answer any of my calls.”  
  
Paul lets out the breath he had been holding, slowly, trying to control it. “Yes, of course. Thank you so much.” He stands up stiffly and holds out a hand, which Brent takes and nods curtly. “We’ll be going then?”  
  
Brent nods. “Of course. You don’t look too well, Paul. Are you sure you’re alright?” She seems to be inspecting the lingering bruise on his face.  
  
“I’m certain I will be. Thank you.”  
  


* * *

  
  
When the conversation is over, Paul practically bolts for the door, and Jack takes a moment to follow him back out of the physics building onto the green lawn of the university. The sun is obscured by slowly drifting clouds, and a breeze is picking up, blowing leaves around their feet, as Paul stands stock still, clenching and unclenching his fists, taking deep breaths.  
  
“Hey, you okay there, man?” Jack puts a hand on Paul’s shoulder and he jumps. Jack backs off, concerned, giving Paul a good three feet of space.  
  
“Fine!” Paul says, almost shouts, voice thin and nervous. “I’m fine, just… a bit claustrophobic.”  
  
Jack frowns and looks around. “We’re, uh, in the middle of the lawn.”  
  
“Yes.” Paul nods. “In there, I mean.”  
  
“Right, yeah.” Jack nods, still trying to keep his distance, unsure what to do to calm Paul down. Paul takes one long, deep breath before letting out a huff and sitting down in the grass, a few leaves crunching beneath him.  
  
“Give me a few moments?”  
  
Jack carefully takes a seat on the lawn too, still trying to keep his distance. “Yeah, sure.” He glances at Paul’s face; eyes closed, brows furrowed. “You did good back there. I know lying about something this serious probably isn’t the easiest for you.” Jack chuckles. “You hate lying about anything.”  
  
Paul doesn’t reply, but he nods just slightly, and the expression of anxiety on his face lessens.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay, Paul. We’re gonna figure this out,” Jack says quietly. It’s a reassurance to himself as much as it is to Paul. He’s more worried than he’d care to admit.  
  
“We’ve been through worse.”


End file.
